


Brother from another mother

by Barry_Manilows_Wardrobe



Series: Sing, O Goddess [4]
Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fraternity, Antilochus is a Good Bro, Condoms, F/M, Gen, Male Friendship, Or the Sabotage Thereof
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:07:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22824577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barry_Manilows_Wardrobe/pseuds/Barry_Manilows_Wardrobe
Summary: The players: Antilochus Pylos (19), very high Troy College sophomore.  Castor Dioscuri (19), not as high Troy College sophomore. Pollux Dioscuri (19)  possibly unconscious Troy College sophomore. An oncoming gang of leprechauns and one dude in a shirt that asks onlookers to kiss him because he is Irish.He is not Irish.“Listen carefully to what I say,” Castor has his hands on his shoulders, probably for balance as they’re synchronized swayers in the night, as serious as he can be.  “Remember the first rule: I will be an enemy to your enemies and will oppose those who oppose you.”
Relationships: Achilles & Antilochus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Achilles/Deidamia of Skyros (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Ajax the Greater son of Telamon/Iphigenia (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Castor & Pollux
Series: Sing, O Goddess [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1629808
Kudos: 8





	Brother from another mother

**“So why do I have to punch that guy?”**

The scene: March 18, 12:03 AM. “Official” St Patrick’s Day.

The place: Hellas Taverna, the seediest dive investors could replicate within 20-miles of both the State University and Troy College. 

The players: Antilochus Pylos (19), very high Troy College sophomore. Castor Dioscuri (19), not as high Troy College sophomore. Pollux Dioscuri (19) possibly unconscious Troy College sophomore. An oncoming gang of leprechauns and one dude in a shirt that asks onlookers to kiss him because he is Irish. 

He is not Irish.

“Listen carefully to what I say,” Castor has his hands on his shoulders, probably for balance as they’re synchronized swayers in the night, as serious as he can be. “Remember the first rule: I will be an enemy to your enemies and will oppose those who oppose you.”

“You promised me a cigarette."

“Is that the most important takeaway here?”

“I’m just sayin’. Cause I have no beef with these guys and am probably not sober enough for coordinated action.” He was talking very loudly and enunciating very carefully. Because he was aware that he had important news for Castor. But not aware enough that he wouldn’t need pictorial evidence of having slung back ten picklebacks. 

“You pussies gonna throw down or what?”

“That.” Antilochus said, still attached to Castor at the shoulders. “That is just not cool, my dude.” He paused. “Am I seriously talking to a leprechaun?” Because there were actual leprechauns there. This was not implausible as someone had woken up the quad with a bagpipe… maybe yesterday? Time was a construct.

Because Kiss-Me was advancing and Antilochus was a good bro he punched him in the face. It was one of those lucky shots that only happened for Antilochus. He was a stupidly lucky motherfucker. One of those people where things just worked out. Like a 2:6 fight under the streetlights of a hipster dive bar. 

The Shamrock Posse went quiet when Kiss-Me dropped. Moreso when Pollux - against all odds - managed to climb out of his own vomit swinging. The Polydeuces’ were twins, but Pollux was a big guy. A shitty fighter and a total sweetheart, but big enough to _look_ like trouble.

Pulling their fallen comrade with them, the leprechauns disappeared into the night.

“Holy shit, dude.” Castor’s mouth was open. 

“You told me to punch him.”

“I was just looking for backup.”

“Well, I think I’ve satisfied my bro reqs this evening. I think I broke my hand.”

  
  
  


**It wasn’t like Antilochus** **_disliked_ ** **Mia.**

He absolutely loathed her. But due to the dictates of brodom, he couldn’t actively do anything about it. She was Achilles’ girlfriend and his mortal enemy, but due to custom his hands were tied. 

He would not say it was a pall over his sophomore year… but _someone_ was carrying the coffin. 

Achilles was his ride and die. His brother from another mother and now his brother in TKE. They held each other down, pulled each other up, and were each other’s official beer holders. On paper, Student Housing brought them together, but Antilochus knew it was nothing less than Fate (capitalized, because come on).

Achilles was the first person who knew Antilochus occasionally made out with guys. He’d walked in and caught Antilochus with his Euro Civ partner, backing out with an easy “Oops.” He’d come back with a celebratory fist bump and _My playa_ when the coast was clear. 

The worst part, the very worst part, was that Antilochus was responsible for their hook up. They had an unspoken agreement that they should put a stop to any drunken hookups. Alcohol and sex were not conducive to excellent decision making, wherein one brain eclipsed the other for ill-fated purposes. 

Antilochus, sober personage as chosen by lot, had taken everyone’s phone. They tended to get lost or broken or used to text exes, none of which was an optimal outcome. As the sober brother, he had facilitated sober transportation. Sometimes by the Drunk Bus co-run run by Student Council and the EMS Club. Sometimes by arranging walking partners headed the same way with directions to text him when they were home safely. Always, always distributing bottled water.

It was his sacred duty.

But he failed Achilles. Somehow, by hook or by crook, one of the senior Gamma Phis had managed to elude Antilochus’ transportation logistics and used a lack of phone to seduce Achilles. In _their_ dorm room. _Their_ dorm room. It was a long, improbable series of events that defied the statistical norm.

The Eye-of-Mia had fallen on Achilles. A legacy student with brilliant prospects, his family had founded and continued to fund the Hellas School of Performing Arts at Troy. 

Antilochus thought she, a senior, was looking to cash out of Troy. 

He wasn’t wrong.

  
  
  


**“I’m going to need chicken blood** , salt, five candles, and a bottle of vodka.”

Looking up from hours of rampaging and police avoidance in his stolen Pegassi Infernus, Antilochus blinked the LCD blur from his eyes. His electronic viewing device of choice waiting patiently for his return. Pollux, who had been diligently shoving maths into his brain for hours, stood over him eye-bruised and sallow. The shadow of the delinquent he usually was. “Are you starting a fight or summoning a demon?”

“Well….” They both heard shoes on the hallway carpeting that stopped at Antilochus’ door. Due to the guise of architectural privacy, the doors were aligned slightly to the left of those across the hall, so it was hard to see who it was.

“We’re in here!” It was Pollux who gave the familiar mating call of the quad. With Spring Break immediately after the last scheduled mid-terms the next morning, they were expecting another Dioscuri sibling. This time Philonoe, the youngest, who had gone downstairs for the smoke neither Castor nor Pollux were supposed to know about. In fact, no one was supposed to know about her, let alone harbor a fugitive. But two brolaws applied: the sister of your bro is your sister and when a bro is questioned by the PA you know nothing. 

It was not Philonoe.

“Speak of the devil.” 

Mia, in Gamma regulation pinks and a low slung backpack appeared in the doorway. “Hello.” Small and blond, it was impossible to accurately describe how much enmity lay behind her perky facade. “Is Achilles around?”

“Nope.”

“Do you know where he is?” 

“Nope.” Brolaw forbade ever divulging the location of another bro when they believed their lives were in danger.

“Ok,” she huffed. “I’m just going to drop something off for Achilles.” She gave a stiff wave and walked back across the hall. He exchanged a look with Pollux, whose eyebrows rose over his thick framed glasses. Pollux was not as invested as Antilochus in Achilles’ (perceived) drama. But neither did he have any explanation for why they were dating. 

About twenty minutes later, Achilles and Diomedes came into the room. Technically, Diomedes was their PA. But he referred to himself as the floor’s Primary Ally. If you didn’t fuck up, he did not fuck with you. Pollux’s head was in Antilochus’ lap, now in possession of the controller.

“Hey guys.”

“Hey Killie.” Achilles was wrecked, his schedule madness as he was hitting prime concert season and the football coach still wanted weight hours from the team. Diomedes, who was also on the team, had come with and they were both in athletic shorts and the Troy maroon hoodie. “Lokes, were you looking for something?”

“Only you, my love. Why?” 

“The junk drawer was open when I got back.” It was Antilochus’ favorite euphemism. Even if everyone on the floor knew what it really was. A miniature Babeland. Achilles and Antilochus never depended on the generosity of their sexytime partners. They always brought their own.

“I have no idea how you would even notice,” Diomedes rolled his eyes. “You live like pigs.” 

“Hey, you are defaming Suidae everywhere.” Pollux pretended offense. “Besides. Of all people, Lokes would be the last person to partake of your stash.”

“Ha ha ha.” Brolaw allowed for the eternal giving of shit in the case of yelling _I think my dick is falling off_ two days after a hookup freshman year. Which turned out to be an allergy to latex, thank you very much.

Achilles’ resting bitch face softened as he moved Pollux’s legs to sit next to them. “Losing again?” Achilles had a way of smiling that never failed to make Antilochus smile. He was ruthless about it too, fully aware of its effect and using it whenever he wanted something. 

“You, sir, are an asshole.” 

“Pot,” he jabbed a finger into Antilochus’ chest, “Meet kettle.” Antilochus swatted at the finger, which Achilles turned into a grab and then into an armpit tickle. He was particularly gifted in finding the weak spots. Pollux ended up on the ground and Achilles ended up on Antilochus. 

“Noooo! Stopppp!” 

“Do you yield?”

“NEVER.” 

Diomedes reached for the nearest aerosole, a bottle of Axe Anarchy, and sprayed them into submission. The smell exploded on a burst of asphyxiating perfume that cleared the room. “Jesus Christ, dude.”

Philonoe found them like that, coming down the hall with a fifth of vodka and a handful of salt. “I was only able to get the vodka and salt.” Cue slow motion turn as Diomedes folded his arms over his chest. “Oh, hey. Misspoke. I meant _Prada_. Nothing but the best for you.”

  
  
  


**[Antilochus] it’s on**

[Asster] ten points

[Antilochus] sigs are only ½ 

[Asster] fuck you say

[Asster] ten points

[Po-Luxe] mayday!

[Po-Luxe] caught behind dumpster

[Po-Luxe] send reinforcements

[Pod-licious] coming!

“Oh, you found something.” Ajax did not look impressed with the offering: a half used box of condoms. “Really?”

“I mean… did you actually think I was going to walk to the Social to buy balloons?”

Castor was at the bathroom sink, carefully filling balloons. Well, more super soaker than balloons at this point. “Sweet. Unfoil me.” Logistics were difficult, having not taken into consideration the slickness of nonoxynol-9. “You have to hold it tighter to the tap.”

“This is completely disgusting.” It really, really was.

“You brought the condoms.”

The ring of rubber slipped down the faucet and the rubber exploded before it even hit the bowl. He jumped back, but still soaked his shirt through.

“You can’t fill them that much. They don’t stretch as much as a balloon latex does.” Ajax made grabby hands for another condom, which Antilochus dutifully unwrapped. “Here, let me show you.” 

“Why is Pollux behind a dumpster?” Achilles dropped his bag, still smelling like airport and the failed dream of Spring Break. He put his head on Antilochus’ shoulder. “Are you using condoms?”

"Yes.”

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

“To answer your query, my good sir, we are currently engaged in a fight to the death. The weapon selected was…” Antilochus used his head to point towards Castor, the bristle at his cheek rubbing against Achilles’ hair. “Aqueous missiles.”

“Fuck.” The condom broke in Ajax’s hands. “Why are they _leaking_ so much??” 

“Oh, take these out to Auto and Podalirius.” Castor handed Ajax the last of the balloons and two super soakers. Antilochus opened another packet and passed over the condom. “I’ll finish these.”

“What the fuck,” Castor swore as another one broke. “Where did you get these babymakers?”

“I got these from Killie’s stash.”

Achilles reached for the box and pulled out a foil pack. “These aren’t mine.”

“You always get this brand.”

“Yeah, but Amazon shipped out flavored and I thought they were close enough so I didn’t return them. These are the normal ones.”

[Pod-ilcious] man down.

[Pod-ilcious] i repeat

[Pod-ilcious] man down

  
  
  


**“Please stop petting the test subjects.”**

Antilochus, sober personage as decided by lot, was not entirely alarmed when he turned the corner and saw five people planking with beer bottles on their backs. One of the plankees, a super fit girl from the rowing club was, in fact, being petted by another girl. This one in a pair of cut offs and the “We’re bringing spicy back” Gamma tees. All of this overseen by Promachus, Achilles’ pledge father, who was waving a broomstick like a wand. 

Though it didn’t look like they were being coerced, it was still within the limits of the TKE house and thus a liability if someone got hurt. 

“And what do we have here?” 

“The funeral games of Finny. May his golden fins find their way to Elysium.” Antilochus was fairly certain that Finny had been female, but it seemed politic not to mention this in light of her untimely passing.

“You know our insurance rider explicitly forbids funeral games.” 

“Did I say… funeral games? I was metaphorically referring to SCIENCE.” Promachus dropped the broom to take a swing of his own bottle of beer. “I doubt they’re going to last much longer anyway. He’s,” he pointed to one of the guys at the end, “going to fall… now.” And he did.

The girl from the rowing club won by planking for six minutes. Which just made Antilochus feel very inadequate as a human being. Her prize was a dollar store shield they’d had in the chapter room forever. Her friend, who was really quite spectacularly drunk, was extremely pleased to see Antilochus. “Achilles!” She exclaimed before nearly crushing him to death with her arms. “How are you doing?”

On the surface, Antilochus and Achilles did have one similarity. They were both male. Nothing else was the same. “I am doing fine this evening. Yourself?”

“I am sooooooooo drunk.”

This seemed like an understatement. “Perhaps you should have some water?” 

“Perhapppps…” she drew it out, missing her chin when her hand went to it and almost upending. Antilochus caught her before she went ass over teakettle. “You’re so hot.” Antilochus accepted the compliment for Achilles. It was only proper to acknowledge the awesomeness that was a bro. Achilles would have done the same. “I have to tell you something.”

She paused for a very long time, while her friend took her accolades, and the TKE house went _all along the world_. “I forgot what it was.”

“That’s alright. You should have some water.” He escorted her to the cooler on the porch and opened a bottle before handing it over. Some of it ran down her chin as she chugged it. That she ended up vomiting in the bushes a second later was not really a surprise. But better out than in, right? 

“Achilles!” She said, looking at Antilochus again. “I have to tell you something.”

“Is it that I’m hot?” She shook her head with conviction and then hugged him again, 

“Congratulations!” His eyebrow raise must have motioned her to go on. “I heard that you’re trying to have a baby with Deidamia. That’s so lovely.”

Uhhhhh.

“It’s really great when guys really get invested, right? Instead of all this dicking around bullshit. But you’re like a demi-god, right?” She sort of gyrated her hips with a glazy smile. “I mean all the condoms she buys…” 

Wait. Rewind.

And just like that, lightning struck. Antilochus was not particularly brilliant the way Pollux or Machaon were, but he was a solid B-student. _Oh my god_. “Let me radio the bus for you, okay?” As the sober brother, he had the walkie-talkie that could summon the Drunk Bus.

“Okay.”

[Antilochus] killie

[Antilochus] killie

[Antilochus] killie

[Achilles] wtf dude i am srsly busy

[Antilochus] CHARIOT

The phone rang. “Is everything alright?” He could barely hear Achilles, but he sounded concerned. Chariot was their word. The one they would use if they had been kidnapped by assassins or holed up on the roof of the Hall during the zombie apocalypse. 

“No. One of the Gammas just told me that Mia is trying to get pregnant.” He waited for that to sink in for just a second. “I think she’s sabotaged your condoms.” Achilles was an A- student, so he was quicker on the uptake.

“Wow. Um… thanks, man.”

“Always. I gotta go, Drunk Bus is rolling up. If you need anything, just ask.” 

“Yeah.”

Penthesileia, the EMS Club body on the Drunk Bus, stepped out in her crisp blue uniform as soon as the doors opened. “Your ferry has arrived. What do we have here?”

“Six bodies in need of a ride.” She had the patience of a saint, writing down what dorms and marking points. The Greeks got points for utilizing the Drunk Bus as an incentive to utilize it. This played a big part in College funding and position on the list for house upgrades for the next year. The TKEs, with the oldest house, were particularly diligent.

When he got back to the dorm at nearly sunrise, he found the entire box of condoms upended into the trash. Though he was getting better, Achilles had anger management issues.

He didn’t _think_ Achilles would do anything he would regret, but he was grateful to see it had only been to the condoms.

  
  
  


**Due to the quirks of nature/nurture,** Antilochus could not sleep without a blanket. Even when it was ninety degrees in the room he shared with Achilles. Even while he was cooked alive from the inside, he burrowed into the weight of his comforter. 

He was a cat like that.

But it was ninety degrees and because they were such enablers and shared the same room in the Peleides’’ beach house, he knew Achilles was already up. 

He ripped the comforter off. A tsunami of foul aromas foretold his coming: the onions he ate last night, sweaty sheets, and the ghost of other bodily emissions best left unacknowledged. He walked out in his white briefs, long legged and lean, squinting against the sun. “Stranded out here has been nice and all,” Achilles’ legs were in the pool but he was otherwise naked. “But I haven’t taken a shower in a week and I kind of need one.”

“Same.”

In theory, swimming as bathing seemed sufficient. But he was sunburnt and tow-headed. Achilles was brown and his hair had turned to a tangle of gold. “Do you know how to use the washing machine?”

“There’s a washing machine?” 

“Well,” Antilochus still in his briefs, careful to stay towards the shady part of the deck, slid into the pool. “I guess I can get one more use out of these.” Achilles followed, elbows perched on the ledge, frowning.

“Maybe someone coming over tonight can show us how to use it?” It was their turn to reciprocate the Summer party circuit, though they were headed back to LA in the morning. “How do people just know how to do these things?”

“Honestly? I have no idea. I am not good at adulting.”

  
  


**“Another call from the Hills?”** he asked as the second unit rolled up, Ariadne at the wheel and Hodios in the passenger seat. He put down the paperback he’d picked up, _A History of Cancer_ , and waved them down as they pulled in. He was reading in the bay as Sol had thrown him out for his “cheerful reading materials." “Dude. Get this,” Hodius said, jumping out before Ariadne cut the engine. “These assholes asked Ariadne if she knew how to run a washing machine.”

“Noooo…” 

“No shit,” she said, slamming the driver side door shut. “LEO called us on an ETOH. Of course they throw up in the back.” She sighed. “We get up there and while we’re strapping her in, this guy asked me how to use a _washing machine_. I just can’t with this job sometimes. Thank god you’re getting out of here.” She didn’t really mean that. There had been a farewell. There had been a sad cake.

“Our bb doc.” Hodios rubbed his knuckles over Pat’s head. Pat simultaneously ducking and getting his hair knotted into gyro smelling curls. 

The stench in the back when Ariadne opened the door was awful. Muted and transmuted under the scent of Vicks.

“Look upon my works ye mighty and despair…”

“Taco Bell,” Hodios announced with some conviction. “We’re out of service, so I bequeath the Hills to you, Dr Menoides. Oh, and our esteemed colleague, Sol.” Pat’s pager went off like Hodios had cursed it. 

“Oh, just one more thing.” Pat paused, turning back as Ariadne snapped on a pair of gloves. “Bring some Tide with you.”


End file.
